Broken Bones
by Hay Bails
Summary: Rick and Beth have a heart to heart after the events of The Rickshank Redemption. Drunk doesn't look good on either of them. A sequel to "Muscle Memory," but can be read as a standalone.


_**Meant to be read as a continuation of "Muscle Memory," but can be read on its own.**_

 _ **For Sillycritter, whose idea this story is (very) loosely based upon.**_

 _ **Warning for mention of past rape.**_

* * *

Now it was late.

The kids had finally - _finally -_ gone to bed, and Rick Sanchez had a vodka tonic in his hand. He savored it; it was his first real drink on the outside, after all.

"So," said Rick. You could always tell when Rick Sanchez was uncomfortable, because he wouldn't meet your gaze as he spoke. He drew the word out to its fullest potential, holding the 'o' for a number of seconds before letting uneasy silence take over the small kitchen once more.

"So," Beth replied quietly, a mug of cool water tucked between her hands.

"What was that all about, last night?"

"Uh..." Beth fidgeted. She couldn't pretend she didn't know the answer. Her earlier accusations could no longer be attributed to mere drunkenness.

Her father scrutinized her, gaze cold and calculating.

"Pedophilia, Beth?" he reminded her. "You really think I'd take advantage of Morty that way?"

She tried to laugh it off. "Well, y'know..."

"Come on."

She swallowed. "You _do_ spend more time with Morty than anyone else, dad."

"Does spending a lot of time mean w-w-we, I'm automatically fucking my own grandson? I'm not buying it."

"I-"

"And moreover, you're more concerned with, with pedophilia than _incest?"_

Beth's face blossomed into a deep vermilion. She said nothing, opting to take a long sip from her mug. Her expression was hidden behind thick ceramic.

"You're sending some strange signals, sweetie."

"Look, I'm just, I'm just _afraid,_ okay?" Still not entirely sober, words poured from her mouth at a staggering level of honesty.

"Afraid of what?"

"Dad." She shook her head.

"Afraid of _what_ , Beth?"

"Afraid he'll grow up like me!" Her voice was a growl and he was taken aback by the tone of raw emotion.

"H-how would that even work?" he asked, a bad feeling growing inside him. "At least he's got... y'know..." He looked away guiltily. "Parents."

"What would you know about having parents?" Beth asked icily, and instantly regretted it.

Rick winced. "Uh."

"Ah, geez," Beth whispered, berating herself silently. "That's... not what I meant."

Rick sipped sulkily at his vodka. "What did you mean, then?"

"Sometimes," she inhaled cryptically, "the parent you have is worse than the parent you don't."

Rick's eyes narrowed. "Beth, what are you saying?"

Beth's hands were shaking. Just a little. "Oh... nothing, dad."

"What are you even talking about?" He had a nasty hunch that things were about to get very dark very fast. Of course, he was correct.

"I just don't want you to... to _do_ anything to him."

And there it was. Rick felt like he had been punched in the gut. It didn't matter whether she thought he was physically harming Morty or worse - the fact of the matter was that she believed he would harm his grandson at all. He could never hurt Morty, he decided in that moment. He had always known it, but had never been forced to put the thought into so many words before. No. He loved Morty.

"Who hurt you, Beth?" he asked in a flat, low voice, cutting straight to the chase as he so often did. Somebody must have, or she wouldn't have reacted this way.

"I..." Her voice broke. "Dad, please."

"I'm trying to be a better father, Beth. I know I wasn't there but..."

"Yeah, well, if you had been maybe she wouldn't have _raped_ me," Beth accused. The kitchen suddenly seemed very cold.

Rick paled. "She... you mean D-Diane?"

Beth was terrified, but there was no going back now. "Yeah. She... did things. When you left."

"Oh my god." He set his drink down on the counter. Previously, he had thought he'd hit his all-time low; that it was impossible to feel like a shittier person than he did already. He was wrong. "Jesus Christ. She _raped_ you?"

Beth looked at the floor. "It was a long time ago... anyway it doesn't matter now..."

"Elizabeth," he whispered, approaching her slowly. He wanted to touch her, to brush her hair from her face, but he was scared. She was a fully grown, middle-aged woman. Still, all he could see was the girl whose hand he had held decades ago.

He took her hand now, hooking a single finger around her thumb.

"My baby," he mourned softly.

Beth shrugged without looking at him. She was unable to summon enough emotion to cry about it. She wrapped her fingers tightly around his.

"Damn it," he said. He scooped her into his arms. "Fuck, Beth, I didn't think she w-would..."

"Dad, don't-"

"I left you with her because _I_ was the unstable one," he confessed. "She was supposed to raise you right."

"You didn't know," she stated tiredly. "It isn't your fault."

"Yeah, but I could have _stopped_ it." His voice was painful, and he cleared his throat.

Beth didn't have a response for that. She closed her eyes and bent her head against his chest, listening to his erratic heartbeat. His frame was made thin and brittle by age, and she imagined he might break at any moment.

Rick closed his eyes and let her warmth seep through his veins.

"I'll kill her," he whispered.

"She died twenty years ago, dad," Beth mumbled.

"I'll resurrect her and kill her again."

Beth wasn't sure if he was joking or not. She buried her fingers in the collar of his lab coat. "Don't."

"She hurt you, Beth."

Beth felt something hot and wet and small drip onto the top of her head. Was it a tear? Or was it a stray drop of spittle? She couldn't be sure.

"I'm fine now, dad."

Rick's grip tightened, almost imperceptible, but Beth knew.

"It's like..." he said, at an emotional loss. "It's like when you break a finger a-a-and it doesn't heal right."

"Yeah. It is like that."

"Always sticking out to the side or some shit."

"Well, maybe not _quite_ like that..."

Beth felt him shudder and bury his face in her hair. He inhaled, and her hair tickled his nose lightly.

"Beth. I... I'm so sorry. You know I... I love you." It was a good thing to say if you could mean it, and for once he actually did. The words felt foreign from disuse, but they were genuine.

"I know, dad," she choked out. "I love you too."

Somehow, that statement hurt him more than anything else she had ever said.


End file.
